


And away we go

by Kikiro (kikirochan)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ??? - Freeform, M/M, Prison, Sadstuck, Slight Paranoia, mention of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7432519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikirochan/pseuds/Kikiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew he shouldn't have done that. He didn't listen to you anyway. Now you are in prison because you couldn't say no to your little brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And away we go

**Author's Note:**

> k, i know its johndave week and all that but... ive been on a binge of that, dirkjake, and davekat for the past month, i need some alone time with the striders, k? k.
> 
> even if alone time includes jake, john, and rose on occasion.
> 
> (plus the other stories im working on either go heavy into sadstuck territory or don't have much in way of romance.)
> 
> (also, i have no idea how to title things. its called 'and away we go', the other one i started on a whim is called 'hey, hey'. seriously, can i get some help with titles here? no/no?)

You hold out your hand to help him up. The lady who knocked him down was now lost in the crowd of the mall. He grabs your hand and you pull him up but he doesn't let go. You look at him curiously, his eyes hidden behind his aviators that his friend gave him ages ago.

You try to pull your hand out of his but his free hand goes up to wrap around your wrist. Your other arm is going numb and you can't look away from his face. It's a game of incestuous gay chicken, and you are not about to lose to this punk. With a tight grip keeping you still he releases your palm as his own rises to grip at the back of your neck.

You narrow your eyes behind your own pointy shades as if to dare him to do anything. 

But of course he does.

You've told him not to do this in public. It could get you in trouble. He would be without you.

But he never listens.

 

* * *

 

 

It's been a few days.

You've convinced yourself that anyone who saw you kiss your brother had mistaken you two as just a couple who looked incredibly alike. Nothing more. Nothing less. But as you are now, sitting across the table from your little brother, an officer standing at the side between you two, you know it was a lie.

Someone from Dave's school, a kid he probably had a class with, spied the incident from across the way. Or so you guess. It could have been anyone, really. A teacher you went to see one time, someone who knew you and knew Dave was underage.

Anyone.

Dave is busy trying to convince them that it was all a game. You, however, know that it's useless. They can pin you for statutory rape just because he's a minor.

That's twenty years in prison.

Twenty years without Dave.

Twenty years unable to touch him.

Twenty years unable to see him.

Twenty years unable to taste him.

Twenty years unable to hear him.

Twenty years unable to smell him.

You feel your heart break as you are shoved into the back of the patrol car but you wont let any tears fall.

Striders never show weakness.

 

* * *

 

 

John came to see you. He told you that Dave was put into the system.

'The System'.

It can be cruel, you know. You had enough friends growing up that told you so, because they lived it, breathed it.

Dave is only sixteen.

You would have bought him a car if he asked.

But he didn't ask for a car.

You would have bought him a house if he asked.

But he didn't ask for a house.

Of course not. All he ever wanted, all he ever needed, was you.

When he asked for you, you let him have you.

With, of course, a few rules.

You won't have sex with him until he turns eighteen.

He said ok.

You won't touch him and he can't touch you until he turns eighteen.

He said ok.

You won't do anything revealing your relationship while in public until he turns eighteen.

He said ok.

You realized your flaw with that last rule a little bit too late.

 

* * *

 

 

The people in here usually leave you alone. Except for one guy. You don't talk to him. Don't really have to. He talks enough for the both of you and then some. He can be amusing some times. Other times he's trying to get something out of you.

What got you in here. What's your name. Why don't you talk to anyone. Who's missing you on the out and out. How long you got.

None of your business. Get lost. Go fuck yourself. No one you know. Get impaled on a cactus.

But no matter how closed off you get with him, he never. Shuts. Up.

One day, while you're getting some grub in the canteen, (Which is just slop that tastes like ass.) you learn his name.

Jake English.

Apparently he's in for some murder that he was an accomplice to. You guess being an accomplice would be better than being the mastermind. Though, you would still love to be the sick-o that came up with the whole plan. It's just something about you, you guess, that loves a good murder.

Since he told you what got him locked up, you guess you could humor him.

"My little bro is a sick bastard that wanted to bang his own blood. But he's underage meaning I was the one who got in trouble. I guess it's only fair since I didn't fucking tell him it wasn't right." You don't actually think he's a sick bastard, nor do you blame him for anything. You love him, as your brother and more.

You suddenly don't feel hungry (not like the ass-slop is helping your appetite) and let your plastic spoon fall out of your hand onto the tray.

You managed to block the world out until you are told you have mail.

One letter. You try not to look at the address in the off-chance it's about Dave.

It's about Dave anyway.

He's in the hospital.

A coma.

An overdose.

Likely a suicide attempt.

You find yourself choking back sobs, hiding, curled up, knees to your chest, in a shower stall. When you hear footsteps you slap a hand over your mouth. The letter is stained with tears and your eyes burn. A terrifyingly loud sob rips from you and you squeeze your eyes shut hoping futility that whoever it is that is out there didn't hear you.

A head of dark hair peaks at you. It's Jake.

You are showing weakness.

When he realizes who you are through a sleep addled haze he tries to console you. Tells you it will be alright. Everything is fine.

Nothing is alright. Nothing is fine.

He must blame himself, hate himself.

You are scared; you don't want to lose him. You love him. You love him. You love him.

 

* * *

 

 

Rose visits. She's keeping an eye on Dave for you. Nothing changed since you got the letter. You tell her you don't want to lose him. He is the only family you have. You don't tell her you love him. She doesn't need to know. She shouldn't look at you that way. You've seen how others in here look at those that actually raped someone. You couldn't stand that. Wouldn't stand that. Because you didn't do that.

That day you talk to Jake. An honest to God conversation. He seems ecstatic. You just don't want to think about it.

You are plucking at the grass, sitting far away from other people, backs against the cool brick wall. You're not allowed to have your shades so you have to squint in the hard mid-day sun.

Jake asks you about Dave. How did it all start. When did it start.

You guess it's better to think about the good times you had with him. Preserve those memories. Don't think about now. 

You lose yourself telling him about the past.

 

* * *

 

 

Dave was thirteen. He was slamming cupboards. Open, slam. Open, slam. He tried the fridge for the third time like something was going to magically appear in there. You don't know magic and that kind of technology doesn't exist. If it did, you would just appear-ify things for him to eat instead of having to fuck with the outside world. He's old enough, he can go get food himself.

You sit on the futon watching TV. 'Watching' wasn't really the right word. It was just background music to the main attraction.

Your little brother walks around the side and stares at you from behind his shades.

"What."

"Go buy some food. I'm hungry."

"Go get it yourself, dickweed."

"Then give me some money, asshat."

You turn your head to look at him. He tensed slightly.

"If you want money go work on a corner in some slutty outfit. Not like I care."

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. But the kid's got to be more independent.

He trudges to his room. You really hope he doesn't actually plan on selling his body.

A few minutes pass and you forget about the conversation.

Finally, he emerges again. You don't look at him until he blocks your view of the TV.

Dave is wearing fishnet stockings, a thong peaking out from under a plaid miniskirt, and a crop-top. His sunglasses abandoned somewhere leaving his red eyes to stare into, something black is smeared all over his upper eyelids. 

He crawls into your lap painfully slow and reaches for your own glasses. You stay stock-still as he does so, bending the arms in and setting them gently on the coffee table. His gaze slides to your eyes and he gives a smirk, forearms resting on your shoulders, loose. "Hey, mister. You looking for a good time?"

You won't have this. You won't have your thirteen year old little brother pretending to proposition you for sex. No matter how hot it may be to you.

You grip his thighs (they're plump, soft, smooth under the netting) and stand up, he holds on to your shoulders and his legs wrap around your waist (he's warm, you wonder if he likes to cuddle) as he leans into you, his chest resting on yours (he smells like lemon, that's your shampoo he used).

Your nails start to dig into his legs as you just stand there for a few seconds.

"Bro?" His voice is small. Is he afraid? Did he not think that you would do anything? Or did he think you would? You are too confused right now.

You turn around and dump him onto the futon. He looks shocked from the fall and a little scared. Like a small animal. A baby bunny cornered by the big bad fox. About to be devoured and torn to shreds in those big sharp teeth.

You shove your hand into your pocket to fish out your wallet. Opening it, you throw a few twentys and a fifty in his face, almost smacking him with them before storming off to your room and slamming the door shut without a word.

 

* * *

 

 

He avoids you for three weeks. Or maybe you avoid him. You can't remember.

One day you rope him into watching a movie with you. Some shitty action comedy thing that was probably about a superhuman or something like that.

Halfway through you start to doze off. That's been happening lately. You can't get through a movie in one sitting without falling asleep, and you can't get to sleep without having the TV on.

When Dave notices you falling asleep, he scoots closer to you, bodies touching from knee to shoulder. He pries the remote from your hand and holds yours in his, palm to palm. It's when he rests his head on your shoulder and lets out a soft content sigh that you snap to full awakeness. The jerk of your body must have startled him because he's sitting up straight now. 

Dave pulls his hand from yours slowly, maybe hoping you didn't notice, but you did. He's watching you, head cocked slightly so you can't see his eyes behind his shades. But it's that slight turn that tells you everything.

Having his hand halfway out from under yours, he stands. You catch his wrist before he even takes a step and pull him back down.

He doesn't even try to hide the little fear present in his raised eyebrows when he looks questioningly at you. You don't acknowledge it as you intertwine your fingers in his, thumb rubbing at the back of his hand. He's looking down at them but you are looking at his face.

His hand is small in yours, his fingers are a little cold. Your larger fingers in between his might hurt with being spread like they are, but you don't care.

You make him rest his head on your shoulder again, you then rest your cheek on the top of his head inhaling the scent of lemon.

 

* * *

 

 

Dave became more touchy after that. Sometimes it was just a smack or a punch on your arm. Other times he kept a hand on your back or your leg when you sat at opposite ends of the couch. He never dared to take it too far though.

And he was okay with that for two years.

One day, Dave comes home from school in a bad mood. You don't pay him much attention thinking he will just stomp to his room and slam the door shut. Instead, he stomps over to the futon where you sit and plops down into your lap. You are taken by surprise at this action and he takes your non-resistance as a cue to wrap his arms around your shoulders, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. When he settles in and stays still for a long enough time you wrap your own arms loosely around his waist.

You won't ask him what's wrong. You know that if he wants to talk about it he will speak up. You will give him all the space he needs and be there when he needs you.

The two of you sit like that for a long time. Finally he begins to move. But what he does sends your mind reeling.

Kisses trail up your neck and across your jaw with a few nibbles here and there. He may be experimenting. Trying to get a rise out of you. See if the stallion will buck him off this ride or if it will allow him to take it out for more.

When his hips move and tongue darts out to swipe across your bottom lip you decide the ride is over and push on his chest, moving him to the side and standing up. You look down on him with your fists clenching at your sides. You will admit that you were turned on by his actions, but you won't lose yourself.

Dave is shaking, trying to hide behind one leg he has bent to his chest, his head turned to the side to avoid eye contact. Or at least, as much eye contact that can happen behind two sets of sunglasses.

"Why do you do this?"

It's deafeningly quiet despite the excess of sound coming from the TV.

You are about ready to leave him there until he speaks.

"I want you." It's a whisper and you almost didn't catch it.

You don't know what to do. Should you give in? Let him take what he wants? What if it's a trap? What if he really does hate you and will use this to finally get rid of you, to take everything of yours for his own. There is enough money in your account for him to lead three different lives. He would want that wouldn't he? Why would he do this?

You think the slight paranoia you've had your whole life is starting to get to you. You should know there is no ulterior motive; he is your brother. But not all siblings even like each other. Even if you think you have given him all he ever wanted, loved him like a parent would, should. Does he love you? Does he truly love you?

Does he love you? Honestly, truly, completely love you?

You may have taken too long to answer him, too long to do, well, just anything really. He's looking at you now. 

Maybe you're the one who is broken, because the thought of your little brother loving you as more than just a brother, family member, whatever, does not bother you. But it should. It really should.

"Bro?" His voice is small. Scared, like a small animal. A baby bunny cornered by the big bad fox. About to be devoured and torn to shreds in those big sharp teeth.


End file.
